On my way home from the Romance Writers of America National Conference in San Antonio, Texas, I met a fellow writer in the airport. She was so dazzled by the success stories spotlighted at the conference, the growing number of indie and hybrid romance authors who reported earning substantial and even impressive income from their writing by taking advantage of self-publishing. After attending workshops with titles like “How to Make Six Figures Quietly as an Indie Author,” she was ready to jump in with both feet and try her luck. She planned to quit her day job to focus on her writing, even though she had not yet completed a manuscript. My stomach sank as I considered her prospects and the incredible risk she was taking based on the undeniable success of several select authors. Had she been given false hope, or were her chances as good as the hype suggested?

One feature of the digital age is how much interpersonal interaction we have across social media. We communicate through text and pictures and emoticons, and when we talk about “social networking,” we’re trained to think in terms of Facebook or LinkedIn or Twitter. Today I’m writing about the other social networking, you know, the in-person kind.

Earlier this month, I hit the magical publish button at Amazon and became an indie author. I am hugely proud of my book: Kings of Brighton Beach Episode #1. I had an enormous sense of elation and accomplishment when I finally decided the work was done and then again when I saw it all compiled, the text and the formatting and the gorgeous cover. In that happy moment, I was sure I had a future bestseller on my hands. Yet all of those good feelings vanished when I finally self-published. In their place, terror.

Am I selling myself short if I self-publish, or will I make my own writing dreams come true? If I take years trying to win a traditional contract instead of putting my work out now to sell, am I being wise or foolish? I’m one of a multitude of writers grappling with these vexing questions, but as a social scientist, I also have the knowledge and skills to turn off the emotion and critically analyze the data.

Discoverability is a matter of life and death for book sales, and despite the promise of social networking and online advertising, it is increasingly difficult to compete in the crowded book market. Common sense in the publishing world blames self-publishing for the tidal wave of books that has made discoverability such a challenge. But common sense is merely what a lot of people think, and sometimes it is wrong.

Most of us know that J. K. Rowling and Kathryn Stockett’s now famous works were rejected scores of times before becoming bestsellers. What you may not know is that those rejections were the norm, rather than the exception. Moreover, the number of rejections they received may even have been below average. While all committed writers believe they will beat the odds and find their way to publication, even the staunchest believers have crises of faith, and it is incredibly hard not to take rejection personally. In those moments, it is helpful to understand just what a writer faces. Knowing the odds of rejection can be empowering.

On Friday evening I was honored to be part of a roundtable presentation at the National Arts Club to celebrate the publication of Anahí Viladrich’s beautiful book More Than Two to Tango. The book details the struggles of Argentine immigrants trying to make their living in the US arts and entertainment industry as tango artists—as performers, teachers, producers, and musicians. Given that in the arts and entertainment field so few artists make a living from their art, one of the truly striking findings in this book was how many of the immigrants Viladrich interviewed succeeded in earning significant income, if not a livelihood, from their art. In contrast, very, very few of the writers I’ve encountered in the last several years can support themselves with their writing. What is different about tango that makes it such a promising entrepreneurial niche?

When I started writing novels, I had no intention of conducting research on the book industry. Like many authors, I found myself turning to writing during an emotionally difficult period in my life. Unlike my rigorous and exacting research work, fiction writing gave me an amazing sense of freedom and creativity. I didn’t have to struggle with the complexities of analyzing data. I didn’t need any interview subjects or survey respondents. I didn’t have to spend hours pouring through archives and documenting sources. I could make it all up, say whatever I wanted. My first novel poured out of me in a cathartic rush. I read it over, decided it wasn’t bad, and thought as many new writers do, Wow, maybe I could make some money at this.